Tattoos, Motorcycles, Beer, Bourbon and Faith

Memory Row – Road Trips, Family, Relationships and God

Two years ago this week, my family and I made an epic road trip. While I remember the road trip, I had forgotten that I had penned this reflection exactly two years ago today. As I re-read it, it stirred up something in me, so I thought I would share it with you. I just took a turn down Memory Row. (which is a great song by The Insiders)

I love a road trip, and basically any road trip will do. A two hour road trip to Columbus to check out motorcycles, a 3.5 hour road trip to Hillbilly Hotdogs for a home wrecker, a 6 hour drive to Philly to catch up with college friends, or even the multiple hour road trips for work or vacation. Road trips are awesome, the drive, the adventure, the new experiences, and seeing the country. I am always amazed by the level of enthusiasm at the beginning of a road trip. It’s unbridled. I mean, everyone is excited about the expedition that lies ahead and what the journey will have in store.

That is how we began our drive to Florida on Thursday afternoon, with unbridled enthusiasm. We packed up our gear, loaded the car, had an ample supply of snacks and beverages, appropriate music, and a full tank of gas. We were elated and ambitious and a bit naïve, determined to make the 18+ hour drive from Bloomingdale, Ohio to Siesta Key, Florida in 22 hours and have the experience of a lifetime.

We started the trip out on a high note, leaving around 4pm. We decided to stop for dinner about an hour into our drive at 360 Burger in Cambridge because it is one of our favorite burger places. This trip was going to be spectacular! We were going pull an all-nighter and drive till dawn to watch the sun come up as we arrive in Florida. We had 3 drivers and we planned to break the drive into six-hour shifts.

Curtis took the first shift. We drove through Ohio and into West Virginia listening to old-school, 80’s and 90’s country and little bit of Florida Georgia Line. We switched drivers around 9:30pm when Todd took over. When we crossed into Virginia, our enthusiasm had started to die a slow death as we realized we had well over 12 hours of driving still ahead of us. We were starting to get sore and beginning to feel “road trip” fatigue set in. And it was starting to get late. We made it through Virginia and into North Carolina. Todd was trooper and took the shift until almost 4am. And then I took over after trying to grab some sleep while Todd raced through South Carolina and Georgia.

I took over after we stopped for gas in Georgia, and the boys went to sleep. I listened to new country and sang most of the time (how the boys actually slept, I’ll never know). Crossing the actual Florida/Georgia line was a victory, as we only had about 4 hours to go. I drove, they slept. Life was good. About 2 hours from our final destination, we stopped for breakfast – I wanted to push through to Sarasota, but alas.

We pulled in at our rental property before 10 am. We made the entire trip in less than 18 hours, which included two stops for sit-down meals, and multiple stops for gas and bathroom breaks. And while it was a successful trip and quite an adventure, it was unanimous that morning that we never really want to do this type of trip again. Even my 18 year old son, who chooses not to sleep, was desperate for sleep. And we all had aches and pains that we didn’t know could be conjured up through a car ride.

The screened in porch at our summer rental

While we were all excited about where we were going, a week at the beach and a visit with my step-son and his girlfriend who moved to the Bradenton Area in January, it really wasn’t about the destination. It is true what they say, it’s the journey.

While the journey was long, exhausting and at times monotonous, it was the journey that really mattered in the end. We sang and we laughed. We played car games (Curtis introduced us to “yellow car”) and made up new rules (the Penske Penalty). We talked about what were most excited about and future plans, we made stupid inside jokes and teased each other a lot. We even had some tense moments of tiredness, fatigue and stress. But even with the small number of challenges, I would make the grueling drive all over again because that drive, as strenuous as it seemed, brought us closer as a family.

Our relationship with God is a lot like that. I, for one, thought that once I decided I would have a relationship with God that was kind of the end of it. That was the destination. He would just come into my life and things would instantly be better. But our relationship with God is a journey, a daily journey, and not some final end point. There are conversations (a lot of them) and laughter (mostly me laughing at myself), I sing sometimes (I listen to praise and worship music often – shocking, I know) and there are a lot of moments of fatigue and stress (particularly when I don’t understand). But when I stay with it and persist, I always end up someplace pretty amazing.

So if you haven’t begun your journey with God, I invite you to embark on that road trip. And if you have, know that sometimes, a lot of times, the road will get bumpy, sometimes you’ll have to take that path in what seems like utter darkness, and sometimes you’re going to get really uncomfortable and things might even seem painful. But don’t get sidetracked, take a detour or think that the journey isn’t worth it. I know He will lead you some place amazing. Please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Worn Pews

Summer has thrown me from my normal schedule. Well actually, if I am being honest, I was thrown off my schedule way back in April when I had surgery with some unexpected complications. My days have not really been normal since then. First it was due to recovery. Then it was due to exhaustion, which I attributed to recovery. Then school wrapped up and schedules changed, my husband was home (he is a teacher) and my son started getting up before 5am (he started a summer internship). So, my schedule changed again to adapt to the changes in our household.

My normal morning of attending mass at 7:15am at the monastery changed. They made their mass time later which had an impact again on my schedule. So, I began attending the 7am mass at Holy Rosary this summer. I do not make it every day, unfortunately. Somedays, I work from home, so I sleep a little later because I am still quite tired. Somedays I attend the later mass at the Monastery. And somedays I go to the 8am mass at Blessed Sacrament or Holy Family. But most days, I go to Holy Rosary.

First Grade at Holy Rosary Central Grade School circa. 1979

One day last week, I had noticed that the top of the pew in front of me was quite worn and smooth. The oak finish had been completely rubbed off and revealed the smooth lighter natural wood beneath it. When I saw this I began to think of all the people who had knelt behind that pew offering prayers for their family, friends and loved ones; for world peace and for the church, for a return to moral values and an end to abortion, for good sense, truth, and justice from our elected officials, for healing from illness, and for lost sheep to return to the church and to God, and for a million other things that people pray for.

I thought about all of the students who attended mass at Holy Rosary and their simple and honest prayers. I was once one of those students, decades ago in the school uniform, praying for my dog Ralph not to be dead. He was hit by a car when I was nine years old. It was sad and traumatic, so much so that I still remember that day and that date very clearly. It was May 3, 1981. He was my first dog and I still think of him to this day. I thought about all of the teachers who took those students to mass. I thought about all of the priests who offered mass. And then I thought about that pew again.

Me and Ralph (yes, I am wearing a KISS shirt) circa. 1980

That worn pew made me think of myself. I am worn, I feel tired, I feel troubled, and sometimes I feel lost. But mostly, at least lately, I feel worn out. I feel a lot like that pew. The last few years have been a bit challenging, particularly with regard to my health. And while I am cancer free, I still have to be vigilant about it because it can return. I have had my fill of cancer. I have had several friends battle breast cancer, and win. But I have also lost two friends’ to glioblastoma. That has been difficult.

Dug up this picture from college (I’m in the middle). Michelle, on the far right died from glioblastoma.
Cancer sucks!

There have been other health concerns for me and my family. There have been challenges with work, with family, with local and global issues, with the church and with the government. All of those things wear a person down. I imagine there are a lot of people who feel exactly like I do, like that worn pew.

But that worn pew is also symbolic of love, of faith, of trust and of hope. So even though I may feel worn and tired, there is no quit in me. I, too, will persevere through all of it, with love, and faith, and trust, and hope. That pew, worn and all, still is there for the faithful to rest upon and offer their prayers to a loving God, who hears and answers, just not always in the way we might want, but in the way that He had planned. God’s plans are greater and far better than our own, even when we feel tired, lost, troubled and worn.

So today, even if you are feeling worn out, stop and thank God for answering prayers, even if His answer might sometimes contribute to our tiredness and fatigue. Know that it is all part of His greater plan for us. Maybe stop in at Holy Rosary Church (or any local church) and kneel down behind an old worn-out pew and offer your own prayers. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Heart of a Miracle

I’m not sure how many people celebrate their birthdays by scheduling outpatient surgeries. I’m also not sure how many people who have scheduled outpatient surgeries on their birthday have had complications, thus making a 2-hour outpatient surgery an over 5-hour inpatient admission to the hospital. Said hospital also happened to be located 2.5 hours away from my residence, thus complicating matters a bit more for my family.

This was how we celebrated the evening before surgery

It definitely was not how I was expecting to spend my 49th birthday. I had fully expected that my husband and I would be home bound from the surgery in Columbus, Ohio by midafternoon on the same day of the surgery. I was the first surgery of the day; it was a routine surgery. So yes, I had some expectations about the outcome. I was so certain of this (maybe so optimistic would be a better statement), that I made plans for the rest of the week. I had actually scheduled a hair appointment for the following day along with a business call.

Needless to say, I was greatly surprised when I woke up in the recovery room, asked what time it was and was told 4:35pm. My surgery had commenced promptly at 7:30am. I remember saying that they needed to release me because we had a long drive home. That’s when they told me I was being admitted. Wait, what? Admitted? Why? Those were the thoughts I had before I fell back to sleep.

When I awoke about 30 minutes later, I asked those very questions. The very kind nurse in recovery explained in detail what had transpired and the surgery that was necessary. The pain that I was now experiencing told me that I didn’t need to go home. In fact, by then I didn’t want to go home. I just wanted to see my husband (whom I could not see in recovery because of COVID) and be admitted to a hospital room. What I really wanted was pain killers and sleep.

I was still quite groggy when they finally had a room prepared for me. It was after 5:30pm and I was the last patient wheeled out of recovery. I remember making a comment about shutting the place down. That was fun when I was in college, shutting down a bar for the night. It has a totally different, not so fun context, when closing down the recovery room in a hospital.

They finally got me to my room (990-A) where my husband was waiting for me. I get a little teary eyed even typing that. We have been through so much over the past year and a half, and I keep coming up with new challenges for us. (I have had four different surgeries in just over one year). But he is always right there standing by me and taking care of me when I can’t take care of myself. I was inpatient for three days and he made the over 5 hour round trip commute to spend time with me, to sit on the edge of my bed, to help me get around, to hold my hand, and to watch the limited offerings on the hospital television. (We watched a lot of Golden Girls reruns, and Forged in Fire when it was available)

My assortment of beverages for my liquid diet.

I have been home from the hospital for just over a week. While the first few days were rough, really rough, (I broke down last Saturday morning because it just hurt so bad) things are improving each day. Now that he has gone back to work, I have a lot of time to myself and will continue to do so as my full recovery is 6-8 weeks. But I fill my days with some work from home (usually first thing in the morning when I am the sharpest), reading (I just finished Jordan B. Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life), and watching television (I have taken to watching the entire series of Party of Five – from the mid/late 90’s – great show by the way). By late afternoon, I am exhausted and not worth much. Reading and watching television really wears you out.

The doctors had warned me that I would be fatigued, very fatigued. Well, me and fatigue don’t get along all that well. I’m active, I’m busy, I’m social, I’m energetic, I’m always on the go, but these days walking from the kitchen to the office with a cup of coffee takes its toll on me. And because I cannot do much it gives me plenty of time to think. Thinking is not always a good thing.

Therefore, I have been very pensive lately, reflecting on a number of different things. The list is endless, so I won’t bore you with it. And pensive sometimes makes me sad, and sadness sometimes makes me resentful. So the last couple of days have been a bit distressing for me and my escape is Party of Five. But, in the midst of Season Four, Charlie is diagnosed with cancer. So it has unleashed a whole other host of issues to think about.

Well today while I was taking my shower, I decided to listen to the Party of Five soundtrack. To answer your question, yes, I was a big fan of the show when it was on TV. In fact, the nights that it aired I would not even answer the telephone during the show…I didn’t want to miss any of the plot.

But the soundtrack. There is a song by the BoDeans called Heart of a Miracle. Listening to that song made me realize all of the miracles that I have experienced since I first began feeling not so great about a month and a half ago. It was a miracle that I was referred to the best OBGYN at OSU. It was a miracle that he scheduled an appointment with me just one day after the referral. It was a miracle that he spent over 2 hours with me on my initial visit. It was a miracle that he scheduled surgery less than one week after my consultation. It was a miracle that my problem was discovered and treated at one of the top rated hospitals in the country by two of the top rated surgeons. It was a miracle that I was discharged after 3 days. It was a miracle that I was cleared for a normal diet just days after surgery. It is a miracle that I am recovering as well as I am.

But those aren’t the only miracles, there are hundreds of others from my mom and sister visiting me the day after I got home (my mom even brought me wedding soup and egg salad – she makes the best egg salad), to the phone calls, messages, texts and flowers I have received, to my boys taking care of me and making sure that I don’t do too much, to one of the principals stopping to visit with her son who happens to be a priest and who brought me communion, to reading books on the porch when its nice out, to cuddling with the dogs who have been my constant companions, to our chaplain who also brought me communion and stayed to visit, to everyone who continues to check up on me. Those, and a million other little instances like those, are the heart of a miracle and I am truly grateful.

The dogs and I spend a lot of time together, so I thought we should also watch Bolt while I recover.

So today, I just want to thank everyone who has been at the heart of a miracle in my life. I am grateful for your love, care, prayers, support, kindness, and friendship. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Far From God

It has been quite a while since I penned any thoughts or any reflections. I just haven’t had anything meaningful (in my opinion) to share. I was hoping that the Lenten season would inspire me, but it did not.

In fact, during the entire season of Lent, in which I was supposed to be drawing closer to God, I could not have felt any farther away from Him. And it was not for lack of trying. During the entire forty days, I prayed morning prayer (although often I completely blanked out), read multiple daily reflections (although nothing was speaking to me), I attended daily mass (although I was typically distracted and agitated), prayed a daily rosary (often days more than one) and the chaplet of Divine Mercy. I also continued to pray the St. Andrew Novena just because I like it. I have tried just being silent and listening. But I got nothing. Even the priest’s whose homilies usually touch me in a profound way had left me entirely empty. Nothing was bringing me peace and I didn’t feel close to God at all. If anything I felt like God was completely absent from my life. And I was angry. Perpetually angry. And I think it was because of that absence. Or perhaps it was something else. I really don’t know; I just know that I felt “out of sorts”.

I essentially complained about the state of my relationship with God to a friend of mine who happens to be a religious sister. I guess I thought or knew that she might have some insight into one’s individual prayer life and how to navigate a relationship with God. She told me that there are times when we will experience aridity in prayer, when we will feel like God is far away. She also indicated that this is normal.

She then recommended a book to me to help me through this “distance” I am experiencing with God right now called Discernment of the Spirits by Fr. Timothy Gallagher. She indicated that it was an easy read, and it was specifically written for lay people. Needless to say, I was excited to have some help in this area so I ordered the book…or so I thought.

I waited anxiously for my book to arrive – two days had never seemed so long. Then the long-awaited day arrived. It was then that I realized I ordered the wrong book. I ordered the Reader’s Guide which is an accompaniment to the actual book – the book that I did not order.

I accepted my little “ordering” mistake as a message from God, the first message that I had had or at least had recognized in months. I figured this was God telling me that he wanted me to dive in a little deeper into this book (the book that I did not yet possess) and spend a little more time getting into the “heart” of the Christian spiritual life. So I went back online and ordered the correct book, only to find out that its delivery would take a little longer that I had hoped it would. Apparently, God was going to teach me patience as well through this little event.

The book has finally arrived, and I intend to begin reading it today. However, as I was looking through it to get an idea of exactly what I am in for, I realized that it is essentially a book of rules – the rules for spiritual life. Incidentally, I am also reading another book of rules called the 12 Rules for Life – An Antidote to Chaos, by Jordan B. Peterson. I have been reading this book for the past couple of weeks, and in a twist of irony I have actually felt a little closer to God while reading it. It has given me a lot to reflect on or maybe just relate to. (There are a number of Biblical references, philosophy and psychology wrapped up in that book).

The point of all of this is, yes, right now I still feel very far from God. But I think a lot of that is my own fault. I have spent the last few months wrapped up in the chaos of our world, of poor leadership, of exaggerated COVID numbers and bold face media lies, of inherent evil in our society, of the desire for power and an unspeakable greed that has become part of the fabric of our government and of big corporations, in the influence of social media, and the opinions of shallow, yet powerful celebrities, of people turning away from God, of “following the science” which, in fact is not science at all, in two weeks to flatten the curve, and in virtue signaling, which is not virtuous at all. I became lost in the chaos of our world and I lost sight of God. When you lose sight of God, you cannot hear what He is trying to tell you, you cannot do God’s will, and you certainly will feel far from God. But I feel like I am on the right path in resurrecting (no pun intended) my relationship with God, particularly during this Octave of Easter.

So today, maybe take a moment and see where you stand in your relationship with God. Have you reduced room for Him like I did because I was so concerned about external issues? Or maybe you have not had a relationship with God at all. In either case, now is a good time to begin that journey with God. So today, please pray for me as I delve into my new book and open that door to an improved relationship with God, and I will continue to pray for you.

Where is God?

Lately, I have been having great difficulty praying. I’m distracted, I lack focus, and sometimes altogether completely forget that I am even praying. I guess you could say I am going through a bit of a dry season.

You see, I have been praying fervently for several months, in fact, more like a year for some pretty specific intentions. I have devoted daily rosaries (usually more than one) to those specific intentions. I have prayed various Novenas for those same intentions, offered Divine Mercy Chaplets, and just had conversations with God imploring His help. And with each prayer, with each request, with each supplication, all I hear is a deafening silence. And more than that, I watch our country, our nation, our world fall farther and farther away from God and slip deeper and deeper into evil, maliciousness, hate and fear. It has truly made me wonder, “Where is God?”

With today being Monday, I had planned to start the week off with morning mass. Then my nineteen-year-old son offered to take his father and me out for breakfast this morning – his treat. When your almost adult son wants to spend time with you, you jump on it. So of course, my husband and I went out for an early, before work, breakfast with our son.

With breakfast on the table (no pun intended), I had just kind of accepted the fact that I was going to miss mass. I figured God would understand. I mean, like I said earlier, He really hasn’t been saying much lately. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if He could even hear me at all these days.

But as fate, or divine intervention, would have it, we finished our breakfast at 6:30am. I had plenty of time to make it for 7:15am mass at the Monastery, and thus continue with my normal Monday morning plan. While I did not arrive early enough to pray morning prayer with the sisters, I did arrive early enough to pray morning prayer on my own.

As I finished morning prayer, I began to read the daily reflection and discovered that today celebrates the Conversion of St. Paul. Just as I read that, Fr. Jonathan walked in. He would be the priest saying mass today. That, right there, is significant.

Fr. Jonathan’s homilies always speak to me. In fact, I was speaking with another priest who is a good friend of mine and I mentioned to him that there are specific priests whom I seek out (him also being one on my list), because I so enjoy their homilies. I also mentioned that I had not attended mass with Fr. Jonathan in quite some time. Then low and behold, here we were.

Fr. Jonathan saying mass is important and today being the celebration of the conversion of St. Paul is also meaningful. You see, I can identify with St. Paul on many levels. This is a guy who persecuted Christians, sought them out to arrest, torture and kill them. And this is who God called to evangelize, to teach, to spread his word. So if God called Paul, you can bet He is calling each one of us.

But Paul’s conversion was pretty earth shaking, right? Which could leave us waiting for our own “road to Damascus” experience. But conversion isn’t always so grandiose. The Catechism of the Catholic Church calls conversion “the movement of return to God”. That actually sounds rather peaceful.

In his homily, Fr. Jonathan asked us to think about what started each of us on our path to conversion. Who was our Ananias who helped direct us on own journey to and with God? That struck me in a profound way because I can say with 100% certainty that my journey began in that very Chapel with those very sisters.

My conversion began when I started working for those same sisters in the winter of 2015. Although at that time, I had no real relationship with God and I had no idea what conversion was. But those sisters were praying for me. I guess maybe they were praying for my conversion, maybe not. I just know that they were praying for me. And this conversion certainly didn’t happen all at once. It has been slow and gradual and on-going, but had it not been for them, I might still be very lost, not praying, not asking, not even wondering if God hears me.

Today, while I was wondering, “Where is God?” I got my answer, right there in the mass I didn’t think I would be able to attend; with the priest whose homilies I have been desperate to hear; in the chapel where my conversion began with the sisters who were my Ananias. Just when I thought that God didn’t hear me, that God wasn’t answering me, that God wasn’t with me…just when I asked, “God, where are you?” He answered me. He has been right here, the whole time. I have been so anxious, so angry, so fearful, and so preoccupied, I have simply failed to recognize His presence.

So today, think about your conversion story. Calm you mind, focus your attention, and be still. Where is God? He is with you, even when you fail to recognize His presence. And today please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Goodbye, Good riddance and Gratitude

So let’s admit it, 2020 was pretty much a shit show. I am sure most people are glad to see it go. From the COVID pandemic, to the shelter in place and lock downs, to the debacle that we called a Presidential election and the aftermath and chaos of election fraud, 2020 pretty much sucked.

Now that is not to say that 2020 did not contain good things, that there were no blessings; there were. It is just that sometimes they were difficult to find and even more difficult to see in plain light.

The year just started off kind of weird for me. Faced with a cancer diagnosis and impending surgery, I knew that 2020 was going to be a challenge. But I also knew that 2020 would be filled with blessings. After all, 2020 was the year that I beat breast cancer.

I was fortunate enough to get my surgery done before the COVID lock down. I am not really sure how that lock down would have affected having a mastectomy to treat breast cancer, and I am grateful that I did not have to find out. The surgery was completed about 6 weeks before the lock down to “flatten the curve”. It did, however, impact my recovery and subsequent surgeries. It resulted in the cancellation of in person doctor’s visits and pushed my second surgery back a few months.

In March, things really changed. We stopped attending school in person, doctors’ visits were done remotely or cancelled all together, we were only permitted to leave our homes when it was absolutely necessary, we identified some people as essential and others as non-essential (or disposable). Then mask mandates came into effect. We were called selfish if we chose not to wear a mask or if we ventured out of our homes. The two weeks to flatten the curve turned into nine months.

It has been nine months of staying six feet apart, not seeing your family, limiting gatherings and travel and social interaction. Nine months of not having in-person meetings, or shaking hands, or hugging loved ones. Nine months of not visiting the elderly in nursing homes or the sick in hospitals, because, well, we are not allowed to do those things in America anymore. Nine months of hell for most people.

I am not going to lie or pretend that it did not affect me, that it did not have an impact on me. It did. By November I was angry, frustrated, despondent and, well, depressed. Physically, I was almost back to 100% after kicking cancer’s ass. Mentally and emotionally, however, I was drained, disheartened, discouraged, and miserable. The shelter in place, the lock downs, the mask mandates, the news, the “updates”, the fear mongering, and the negativity of world, had started to get the best of me.

I shared my frustration, my dilemma with a friend of mine who said that the best way to combat depression is by focusing on gratitude. I knew this to be true, that focusing on gratitude changes our outlook, our perspective. I thought I had been focused on gratitude; I did have a lot for which to be thankful in 2020. I mean, I did beat cancer, I have a fantastic family, we spent a lot of family time together during the lock down and completed a number of home improvement projects, we adopted a new puppy, my son completed his first year of college, and my entire family is healthy. There is a lot for which to be appreciative. But I was letting all of the bullshit get the best of me.

I have been trying to focus on gratitude, to remind myself of the fantastic miracles in my life and how God has blessed me and my family. But I really have failed miserably. I let life get to me, forgetting that God is in control, that He has got this and that He has got my back. I forget that all too often.

I purchased some gratitude journals for family and friends as Christmas gifts this year. I decided to purchase journals for both myself and my husband. With the beginning of the new year, I am resolving to write in that journal everyday.

We have always kept a “thankful jar”, a jar in which we deposit notes throughout the year containing those things for which we are grateful. We empty the jar and read those notes on either New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day. We read them tonight during dinner. They were a great reminder of all of the blessings in my life and inspired me to dive into my 2021 gratitude journal.

The song my husband played for me tonight while I was writing this.

My wish for you is that 2021 is better than 2020, that you are showered with blessings, that you are able to recognize each of those blessings with sincere gratitude, and that you thank God for the abundance in your life. Today, may you find thankfulness in a hot shower, a roaring fire, the rerun of a Rocky movie on TV, a song that your spouse plays for you, a text message from your son letting you know that he is “good”, a good work out, a family dinner, being licked on the face by your dog, hot coffee, cozy pajamas, warm blankets, a glass of wine, good health, family, or any other number of things that we take for granted on a daily basis. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Mammograms, Biopsies, and Anniversaries

It was one year ago today that I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember that day very vividly. I had had my biopsy just two days earlier on November 4th, and my mammogram just a few days before that on October 30th.

The book I was reading when I was diagnosed. I don’t think that was coincidence.

While sitting in the imaging clinic on that Wednesday morning, the day before Halloween, I was thinking how October was breast cancer awareness month. There really wasn’t anything more on my mind than that. To me, this was just a precautionary mammogram and ultrasound. Then they told me the results of the tests. There was a suspicious area and they wanted to do a biopsy.

Just days before my mammogram, we visited Coopers Rock to check out the fall foliage.

The biopsy was scheduled for Monday morning, at 7:45am. I remember my son went with me, for moral support. They took five samples. I still remember the clicking sound of the sample collecting “gun”, the pressure on my breasts, the little ice packs that they provided afterwards, and the meeting following the biopsy. They scheduled me to come back on Friday November 8th to get my results.

My son drove me home from the biopsy, got me a cup of coffee, and I got comfortable on the couch. I was supposed to rest for the remainder of the day. And he was off to his engineering classes at Kent State. I did spend most of the day resting. I could not believe how sore I was from that little “procedure”.

Later in the day, I sent a text to a friend of mine, who also happened to be the nurse practitioner who ordered the mammogram because of the suspicious spots that were on my CT scan, to let her know I had the biopsy done. It’s funny, everybody asks if I found a lump. The answer is no, I didn’t. And I do breast exams monthly and had just had a mammogram at the end of April. Six months later I was having another mammogram, because they had found something questionable on the CT scan while trying to figure out why my heart rate and blood pressure was constantly elevated. Funny, isn’t it?

We exchanged a few more texts that afternoon and I honestly thought little more about the events of the day. I was, however, anxious to get the results. Friday could not get here fast enough.

On Tuesday evening, we exchanged some more text. My friend was hoping the results would come sooner. But we still knew nothing more. Later that evening, she asked if she could see me the following morning. I figured she wanted to check my biopsy sites and see how I was doing, so I didn’t think any more of it. I told her I could meet her after morning mass around 8am. She said I could bring my husband if I wanted. I will admit, I thought that was kind of odd, but I thought little of the strange request and told her that he had to work so he wouldn’t be joining me.

The morning sky, after mass, the day I received my diagnosis

The next morning, while sitting in mass, praying before it began, it hit me. She was going to tell me that I had cancer. That was why she said I could bring my husband. I didn’t put it all together the night before, but now it was clear. I just remember sitting there in mass thinking, I am going to be told that I have cancer. So I prayed, not for the diagnosis to be different, but for strength to accept it.

I still remember what I was wearing that day, navy blue fine whale Talbot’s corduroys, an orange wool Eddie Bauer sweater with a navy blue and orange Eddie Bauer scarf, and brown riding boots. I was scheduled to meet with an alumni later that morning around 9:30am. I am sure I had other things planned for the day, but I don’t remember what they were.

I walked in and they immediately took me back to a room. I didn’t even have to wait. As soon as she walked in, I knew by the look on her face that the revelation I had in mass was a reality. When she said the words, it didn’t hit me right away. It took a few minutes. Then I cried and she hugged me. And I called my husband. And I made arrangements for the principal to handle my morning meeting. And my friend got me into an oncologist for an immediate assessment with an appointment that very morning. And thus began my journey with breast cancer.

Coffee the morning of my visit (11/26) to the James Cancer Center for a second opinion

I am terrible about remembering dates, birthdays, anniversaries, special occasions, any positive momentous event. But for some reason, I have no problem remembering the dates of the mammogram that led to the biopsy, that led to the diagnosis, that led to other appointments, that led to the mastectomy, that led to treatment, that led to reconstruction, and so on.

Saturday December 21, 2019 was the day I adopted Charlie, my cancer puppy.

But I guess in retrospect, these are momentous events because without them, I might not be alive. Without all of those tests and scans, various doctors’ appointments and consultations, maybe I wouldn’t be here right now. Because the cancer was invasive, but they caught it early, before it spread to my lymph nodes, before it had metastasized. So maybe those dates are worth remembering, worth celebrating, worth recognizing as important in my life.

So today, celebrate those milestones, those occasions, that might on the surface seem sad, but have had some significant impact in your life. Celebrate those anniversaries because, in the end, they have made you who you are and made you stronger than you ever thought you could be. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

COVID Tests, Cancer and Great Expectations

I have been COVID tested on three separate occasions. My last test was yesterday morning, and yes, I tested negative again. I have never been tested because I have felt ill or had symptoms, but always because of impending procedures or surgeries. Anything that is “scheduled” now requires a COVID test prior to the procedure. So I like to consider myself a bit of an authority on COVID testing.

For my test yesterday, I had to go to a different testing facility. My two prior tests had been at the same OSU drive-thru facility. The procedure was a little different this time around. In the past I would drive up to the kiosk/tent/reception area, with my name and birthdate placed prominently on my dashboard, and there would be attendants waiting to check you in. They would verify your name and birthday, confirm your scheduled test, and have you proceed to the testing area which was roughly 75 yards from the check-in tent. Once you arrived at the testing site, they would go over the COVID information, verify who you are again, and swab your nostrils – both of them – for 10 seconds each. The swabs were these long Q-tip looking things with a very flexible stem.

If you have never had the joy of being tested, it feels like they are scraping the backs of your eyeballs when you get a COVID test. For a virus that supposedly spreads so easily, I am not sure why I could not just blow my nose into a tissue or spit into a vial and have them test that sample. I don’t know if the eyeball scrape is necessary. It is certainly intrusive and uncomfortable. Your eyes water and your nose burns for about an hour or so afterwards.

Yesterdays experience was a bit different. There was no tent and no one to check me in. There was an awning and a phone number. You pulled under the awning and when you arrived, you called a phone number to let them know you had pulled in. However, this time the placard on my dash was not necessary. They then checked me in over the phone and said that someone would be out shortly to administer the test. I sat in my car and listened to an entire song before someone came out. I should mention, I was the only one there for testing.

The woman who came out looked to be dressed in a full hazmat suit; something else I had not experience in the past. Previous tester simply wore a mask and gloves. She asked me to verify the paperwork she had as well as the label printed on a vial. I must admit, I was a little excited because I thought maybe the testing procedure had changed and I would simply get to spit like I had wanted to before. No dice. I verified everything, answered her questions, and she administered the customary nasal swab.

This was the worst one of all. Being my third time, I thought I was prepared. But this, awful. You see, they had changed the swabs. These “new” swabs were not nearly as long and were not at all flexible. Where before they were scraping the backs of my eyeballs, this time it felt like they were scraping my brain somewhere between the frontal and temporal lobe. My eyes have never watered so much and the nasal burning lasted the entire 2 ½ hour drive home.

Glad I didn’t have to swap myself at home. Yuck!

I write all of this because we all have expectations about how things should work out, how people should behave, how things should be, how individuals should react, what outcomes should look like; we have expectations about everything. And we have expectations about everything, whether we acknowledge them or not.

How often do you expect someone to answer an email you have sent and they don’t? Have you ever expected a work meeting to go well only to have it implode with arguments and disagreements or expected your family to pitch in with the household chores only to be disappointed when they don’t? How often do you expect a phone call from a loved one that doesn’t come? Have you expected someone to respond to you in a different way or react in a certain matter when you share news or information with them, and are disappointed when they don’t? We all have expectations about everything.

Yesterday, I expected this last test to be easy and uneventful. I did not expect it to be as uncomfortable and weird as it was. In a nutshell, I expected everything to be the same as it had been before. It wasn’t. And unfortunately, reality rarely meets our expectations.

I am wholly guilty of having expectations, sometimes often great expectations, that leave me feeling empty and disappointed when things don’t go the way that I had anticipated or had hoped they would. And while I try not to have unrealistic expectations, even the realistic expectations, when they don’t come to fruition leave me feeling frustrated and, well annoyed. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t have expectations, what I am saying is that we shouldn’t let these unrealized expectations impact and control us as much as we do.

I know that is easier said than done, but the Gin Blossom’s song Hey Jealousy contained some good advice, “If you don’t expect too much from me, you might not be let down.” I love that line, but its not realistic either. We are always going to expect things from family, friends, co-workers, peers, and from situations and events. That’s part of being human, and I actually think its healthy to have realistic expectations. What we anticipate and how we react to the reality is what we need to focus on, even or especially when the expectation rarely meets the reality. There are times, however, that we are pleasantly surprised, and I think those times happen more often than we think. But we are so focused on what we think should have happened, we miss the beauty of what actually happened.

The beauty of my COVID test yesterday was that the location was closer to the highway and in a more direct path of travel for me. I didn’t have to spend time navigating the city and was in and out quite quickly. The other positive of the test, I had these results in less than 24 hours. The results have always been quick, but this was the fastest.

I got to drive by Tappan Lake on my way to my test

When I tell people I have to drive to Columbus for COVID testing, their reaction is usually one of surprise. They expect that I should be able to be tested closer to home. But OSU uses a very specific COVID test and you must be tested at one of their facilities. By now I have driven to Columbus so many times, it really is not a big deal. I turn on the radio, drive the scenic routes, and enjoy that little bit of solitude. Sometimes I get lost in my thoughts and sometimes I get lost in the gratitude and beauty of how my life has unfolded.

I never thought cancer could be a blessing, but it has. It has brought so many wonderful people into my life. I had a very negative outlook of how cancer would impact my life, as most people would when hearing the diagnosis. There have been some challenges and a lot of fear, but the blessings and the beauty outweigh all of it and I could have missed it if I tried to make it fit into my narrow scope of expectations.

A gift from a friend when I was first diagnosed

So today, look beyond your expectations. You might just find something unexpected and beautiful. You might be pleasantly surprised. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Be Kinder Than Necessary

A few weeks ago, on a Friday morning, I found myself in morning mass praying about relationships. I’m not entirely sure why, but it was something that I felt very strongly about at that moment.

We all have relationships, good and bad, positive and negative, reciprocated and unreciprocated. We have relationships with family, with friends, with co-workers, with acquaintances, with peers, with organizations, with businesses and the list goes on.

It made me reflect on my own relationships with my family and friends and even beyond. You see, my work is centered around relationships. It is, essentially, what I do for a living…build relationships. Most people think I raise money, and that is true, but you can’t raise money without relationship. A real relationship is the foundation for everything, including fundraising. But I digress.

In my nearly 5 decades on the globe, I have had a number of relationships, some have been lasting, some have had moments of lapse and reconnection, some have been brief. But the one characteristic they share, all have been meaningful. And each one has contributed to the person I am today.

We have moments in our relationships that are challenging, that are a struggle, that feel incomplete or unresolved, that are one-sided, that are demanding, that leave us wanting more or leave us wanting out. We all deal with it within our own families, within our friendships, within all of our relationships. Relationships are work, you get of them what you put into them, but sometimes they are unreciprocated.

I think on that particular morning, I found myself praying about relationships for a number of reasons. Some of my own personal relationships have been subject to the ups and downs, the good and bad. Then I was pondering the state of our country as the we near the election. The polarization is unreal and our relationships with each other have deteriorated. They have deteriorated to a point that I am not sure if we can ever get back to bipartisanship. That reality has left me feeling empty and sad. And lastly, I think relationships were on my mind because of my job. Relationships are at the heart of what I do, and I take those interactions very seriously.

Just days before I my prayer about relationships, I received a response to a newsletter that I send out quarterly on behalf of the Steubenville Catholic Schools. The newsletters are part of the engagement and relationship building process that advancement professionals use. I received a reply envelope with a not so nice note on it, but no other information.

Now I completely understand that some people just don’t want to be involved, that they are just not interested in a relationship with an institution or organization. Trust me, I get it. I have no problem removing your name from my mailing list if you really are not interested. But you do need to tell me who you are so I can process your request accordingly. Unfortunately, all I received was a derogatory response.

Now I am pretty thick skinned, you have to be these days no matter your profession. But I will admit, I was taken aback by the response. I guess I do expect more from people to are Christian. So as I looked at the envelope, it was challenge not to feel angry by the response and even a little judgmental about the person who sent it. I left the envelope on my desk, walked up to the chapel, and sat with God for a bit.

It was during those moments that I really had no idea who I was dealing or what they were dealing with on that particular day. Perhaps the day they received that newsletter was a particularly bad day. Maybe they had just lost their job, had a fight with their spouse, had concerns about their children, or had unexpected expenses pop up. Maybe they were dealing with a family or personal illness or had just lost a loved one. Perhaps they could be battling depression or anxiety, maybe COVID has had a huge impact on them and their family, maybe this was just a way of releasing some of that tension. Or maybe they just have a poor relationship with the school of which I know nothing about.

I’m pretty sure this is what empathy looks like

While the “little note” that I receive took me back and, I’m not going to lie, it kind of hurt my feelings a bit, I realized that I had no idea from where that note had really come. I closed my eyes an offered a prayer for that person. And I keep that envelope in my office near my desk as a reminder that I never really know what someone else is dealing with, so I need to be kinder than necessary and empathic in the face of uncertainty. I also keep it as a reminder, although I do not know who they are, to pray for that person daily because, just maybe, the need a little of God’s grace and blessings.

So today, when something or someone seems uncharitable, remember that you don’t know the entire situation, what that person is dealing with in their life or from what place that response is coming. Remember to practice kindness and empathy, and maybe offer up a prayer for that person or situation. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

God’s Timing is Perfect

Do you ever wonder if you are doing what you’re supposed to be doing with your life? Do you ever wonder if things could be different, and if so how they could be different? Every decision that you have ever made has gotten you to this exact point in your life. Is this really where you are supposed to be? Did you miss a turn, take the wrong path? Are you lost?

Over the past couple of months, I have found myself asking those very questions. Is this really where God wants me? Is this really God’s plan or purpose for my life at this very moment? I was asking myself these very questions because a lot of things were going on in my life. Some new opportunities were presenting themselves, I was forging new professional relationships and expanding my work in advancement, but I had been “unsettled”. I thought God might be calling me to take a different path.

I spent several weeks praying about the events that were unfolding in front of me, trying to discern exactly what God had in mind. I would pray morning prayer, read the reflections for the day, and attend morning mass. Then I would pray some more. But the more I prayed about it, the more unsettled I became.

Each time I thought I had figured it out, something would happen that would have me questioning where God really wanted me to go and what God really wanted me to do. It could be the homily for the day or a conversation with one of our alumni. Some days it was the reflection, or a phone call, or a chance meeting. Other days it would be challenges that would arise, or emails that I would receive. All I can say is that I felt pulled in several different directions and I still had no idea where God wanted me or why He would even put me in the situation that I was in at that time.

It got to the point that I talked with a friend who was a religious sister. In fact, I had been praying again about “discernment of God’s will for my life” one morning before mass. I was still struggling with what all of this meant. When I opened my eyes from prayer, I saw Sister walking through the chapel. It was then that I decided that I would talk with her.

I had asked her “How do you discern between God’s will and your own desire?”, because by this time I was thoroughly confused. I wasn’t sure if I was acting out God’s will or simply doing what I thought I wanted at the time. I was once told by a priest that “That which is God’s desire will bring you peace.” I shared that with her and we talked quite a bit, because at the time I wasn’t peaceful about anything! Her words and advice were comforting, but I still had no idea what I was supposed to do.

I then asked my friend who is a priest the very same question. He gave me the following advice: use all the reason and intelligence God has given you, sit with it and see what decision leads you to feel peace, go in the direction where you’ll be choosing to love. His closing comment was that God uses our desires too. So, sometimes they’re the same thing. That was profound and really made an impact.

I continued to pray about this, trying to discern what God was calling me to, and how could I best serve Him. At the time, He was giving me all of these little clues. But I will admit it, sometimes I’m stubborn and hardheaded and really just don’t get it. Sometimes, I just need to be hit over the head or smacked in the face. This was one of those times.

After nearly two months of trying to figure this out, I realized I was trying to figure it out on my own. Although I had been praying, I hadn’t surrendered myself to prayer and given the discernment over to God. On Monday morning September 21st during mass, I simply prayed and said to God, “you need to be very clear as to what you want from me.” A few things happened after that which made me realize that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Let’s just say God was pretty clear.

The first, which happened that very evening after asking for clarity, one of our alums suggested that I reach out to his daughter as we had a lot in common. As he and I talked, it was clear that we did have a lot in common. But the bond that connected us the most was that we both had breast cancer.

I don’t make a habit of reaching out to strangers, even when someone makes the suggestion, unless it is directly related to a work referral. But this, this made sense. I was going to do this. So I sent a message via Facebook and introduced myself, said that I knew her Dad and how I became aware of her situation and shared that I had experienced breast cancer too. Before long, we were sharing messages and exchanged phone numbers. As it turns out, she had prayed that very morning to be a vessel for Christ and use her experience with breast cancer to connect with and help other women. It was kind of a WOW! moment for both of us. Funny how God answers prayers and uses us for a greater purpose. (Just over a week later we met for coffee and talked for over two hours. I would not have had that opportunity if it had not been for the decisions that I had made and the experiences that I had had. I was exactly where I was supposed to be. God’s timing is perfect.)

The following day, the second and third things happened. I received an email asking when I would be in Columbus to meet with our regional alumni. Because of COVID, I have not done much traveling and most of the planned events had to be cancelled, including the regional alumni event in Columbus. Once I received that email, I immediately began to plan the trip. That afternoon, I got a phone call that gave me closure and assured me that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. Even with all of the uncertainty, the unsettledness, the questioning, the struggling, I know that I am where God wants me. I don’t think I could have said that a few weeks ago, but God’s timing is perfect.

Maybe you’re questioning right now, maybe you’re unsure about somethings in your life. So today be attentive to the little signs that God is giving you, pray, and remember that His timing is perfect. Please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.